


French Gods

by ImpossiblyShamelessEarthquake



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Blasphemy, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Heterosexuality Has no Power Here, Light Angst, M/M, Mild American Gods Spoiler, Mythology - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It, Roman Typical Parties, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpossiblyShamelessEarthquake/pseuds/ImpossiblyShamelessEarthquake
Summary: And his new God - Gaston - wasn’t like the church’s God. No, Gaston reminded him the old stories from Ancient Gods, from civilizations that disappeared long ago. The pagan Gods from places like Greece, from myths LeFou would also hear as a child.The Gods who existed only in poetry and songs recited next to the fireplace on a rainy night.





	1. Never Tickle a Sleeping God

**Author's Note:**

> It worths remember that I respect all religions, and all the words that might be offensive here are only poetic license.
> 
> I didn't want to make a whole post on Tumblr about it, but hey, if you have free time, are over 18, and have interest to help me correct this fic, I would be giantly thankful. English is not my first language, so as much as I read a thousand times what I wrote before posting it, there will always a (or various) mistake that will go unnoticed.  
> But, please, be aware of the delicate themes of this fic - I promise it won't get worse than the tags suggest.
> 
> And this fic was supposed to be based on just a scene of the American Gods show. BUT I got carried on and this happened. So, I must say, this is totally based on American Gods, TV Show and book. I will change a lot of things from the plot, but there will be some scenes that will be pretty much alike.  
> But everything in a different context, because this fic occurs in a post-canon, while American Gods is a modern story.
> 
> I'm reasearching French history, and I'm using Roman and Gaul (Celtic) mythology to write this - I'm trying to follow Gaiman's premise to explore Gods from foreign cultures dealing with another period of history. But I'm also taking some liberties.
> 
> Anyway, there's a lot of notes already. So, let's begin with the fic at once!

                                                                                _"It goes without saying that all of the people,_  
_living, dead, and otherwise in this story_  
_are fictional or used in a fictional context._  
_Only the gods are real."_  
_\- Foreword of American Gods by Neil Gaiman_  
  
  
  
  
  
LeFou never was someone who had feverish faith in God.  
  
It was true, he attended the church, but this was a habit and not a religious feeling. He would get up in the morning, have breakfast, and go to see the priest as everyone else would do. In his mind there was no other alternative, it was only one more task to do.  
  
He was only a child when his grandmother would tell him stories of a mighty God, who was so full of kindness and forgiveness, who loved humans unconditionally, and always helped them through difficult times.  
  
But the same God could also expel his beloved children from paradise for an apple. And He would also condemn his child to the eternal damnation, if He wasn’t amused enough.  
  
Even if that didn’t make sense in LeFou’s childish mind, he didn’t try to understand - he loved and feared the God of his grandmother, and every night he would put his knees on the ground before sleeping, pressing his hands together with fervour to beg for mercy, and to promise he would never do anything to disappoint this powerful force.   
  
LeFou would promise multiple times he would never eat from the forbidden fruit that was the cause of humanity’s misery. There was a period during his childhood when he would refuse to eat apples passionately, until one of the old ladies from the church explain him this was only an allegory.  
  
That wasn’t a solace to LeFou. If the forbidden fruit were only an apple, he would be able to avoid it easily. But if he didn’t know how the forbidden fruit would appear… How he could prevent himself from eating? How he would keep his grandmother’s God pleased?  
  
The answers were getting darker as LeFou left the childhood behind and started to be a young man. Unlike the boys from his age, he didn’t feel the need to be around girls, or to court them. LeFou didn’t want to sneak and see what they hide under their dress, or to walk them home with hope to gain a kiss.  
  
No, even if he suspected such behavior was a sin, this was not the reason that kept him away from girls. It was worse, in fact - his favours were inclined to an opposite direction.  
  
If girls were the ‘forbidden fruit’, was there even a name for a person like him?  
  
He stopped saying his prayers. This was pointless now - he had broken his promise, and he wasn’t even able to regret this transgression. LeFou was doomed, his grandmother’s God didn’t see him with the eyes of love anymore.  
  
But LeFou didn’t mind, as he abandoned the childhood he found himself a new God. A strong and also powerful one. A divine person who was not only clever, but also beautiful. Next to him, the sacred painting of the churches were nothing but childish scribbles.  
  
And his new God - Gaston - wasn’t like the church’s God. No, Gaston reminded him the old stories from Ancient Gods, from civilizations that disappeared long ago. The pagan Gods from places like Greece, from myths LeFou would also hear as a child. The Gods who existed only in poetry and songs recited next to the fireplace on a rainy night.  
  
Gods who were allowed to exist in fiction, but who couldn’t be worshipped in reality. Worshipping such Gods would be a sin.  
  
But Gaston was the incarnated sin.  
  
It was a true delight for LeFou when he noticed the friendship was reciprocate. Gaston seemed to enjoy his company, and LeFou didn’t dare to dream much - why such a deity would crave the presence of a mortal like him? -, but his impression was that Gaston would be as upset as him if they didn’t spend enough time together.  
  
When they turned into adults they already were quite intimate. LeFou would follow Gaston as a priest, opening his way and worshipping every step Gaston took. He wasn’t scared when he discovered his feelings for Gaston were more than adoration - more than desire.   
  
If he had to be in love with a man, if he had to spend his whole life cherishing someone, he was pleased this person would be Gaston. Gaston _deserved_ this and so much more.  
  
Words were never spoken, but as the years advanced, his relationship with Gaston became something beyond friendship. LeFou had always been an adored person, and he always had a lot of friends - none of them would behave with him the same way Gaston did.  
  
Rubbing his shoulders and being allowed to touch him was the least of the items. Often, Gaston would be the one looking for contact, holding his hand with the long and calloused fingers without a logical reason for doing it.  
  
Compliments were said in the most casual moments.  
  
_“You are the best.”_  
  
_“I couldn’t have a better friend than you.”_  
  
_“You are my loyal and most precious companion.”_  
  
Gaston would even praise his qualities when LeFou did nothing extraordinary. The impression was that Gaston was always looking for an opportunity to show how he felt about LeFou.  
  
And during the nights they spent at the local tavern, LeFou would frequently spot Gaston staring deeply at him, even when he wasn’t next to Gaston, even when he was talking to his other friends, or singing and dance at some particular tune. His lost gaze would follow LeFou’s movements until the moment LeFou came back to his side.  
  
There was a point in their lives - LeFou couldn’t measure when it happened - that they started living together. LeFou still had his cabin, the biggest part of his things was still in his old house, but he spent all his time in Gaston’s place. Sleeping, talking, eating, or even sitting next to fireplace together, just enjoying each other’s presence.  
  
Even if their physical contact were never beyond this, even if LeFou had his doubts that Gaston would ever admit his feelings, this was enough - for both of them.  
  
Gaston didn’t seem to want other company, and LeFou couldn’t love anyone beside his personal God. They were together, even if in their own peculiar way, and LeFou didn’t have any reason to complain. Their life was good.   
  
But LeFou made an awful mistake. He had dropped his defenses, and had completely forgotten that not all Gods loved him. There was one God - one God who wasn’t pleased with LeFou.  
  
After all, LeFou had made a promise just to broken it a few years later. Surely, no one could have a bright future if they had offended a God somehow.  
  



	2. Dawn of the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to say that now I have a beautiful beta @rudigerblues/Riachinko  
> I'll never thank you enough, dear!

                                                                        _“When there's no more room in hell,_  
_the dead will walk the earth.”_  
_(Dawn of the Dead by George Romero)_  
  
  
  
  
There wasn’t any surprise as to how Gaston’s funeral splitted peoples’ opinions. While some of the villagers spent the whole day at church, still loving Gaston and worshipping him as a hero who helped people in their time of need, there was a part of the village who did not.  
  
A share of the villagers never appeared to pay their condolences, and one of the things that hurt LeFou the most was how, for these people, Gaston went from the town’s hero to a dead indigent in just one night.  
  
LeFou could feel the despisement in people’s voices and expressions when they claimed how Gaston was the one who almost made them kill their own Prince.  
  
As if they hadn’t been following Gaston with the same blind rage and fear that night. As if they were poor innocents who didn’t attack the court in the form of furniture once they got in there. As if Gaston was the only one to blame.  
  
A deep sigh escaped LeFou’s chest, suffocated with all of those thoughts. But he couldn’t deny it was better to complain about the villagers’ behavior than face the dark truth: he would never see Gaston again.  
  
The horror inside of him was crawling out of his chest and lips as a menace to the effort he was making to keep his scream silent. Gaston was dead, locked in the coffin in front of him, pale as porcelain, with lousy stitches closing the profound wounds of his beautiful face, and the loose hair - that looked more black than ever - covered the rest of his cuts and the part of his skull that had cracked when he’d hit the ground.  
  
His hands were over his chest, and some stubborn man had closed his eyes, wanting to give him a pacified look, probably to give the impression that he was only sleeping. That made LeFou’s heart grumble in a pointless rage: Gaston would never be so calm and quiet when he was sleeping.  
  
At first, LeFou didn’t want to approach the coffin - maybe if he didn’t see the corpse to make it real, he would go back to Gaston’s cabin, and Gaston would be there waiting for LeFou again. But eventually he felt the need to be close to Gaston, even if now it was only a body. The carcass of someone he loved, of his personal God.  
  
After he got close to the locker, he didn’t move away anymore. Anyone who wanted to see Gaston had to do so under his gaze, and LeFou would make sure everyone would do this properly. He was still taking care of his God, even after his death.  
  
And no one dared to look at LeFou directly. Everyone knew about the disagreement they had had before Gaston’s death, and the treason when Gaston left him behind in a frenzy of craziness. A lot of them had witnessed LeFou changing sides that evening, and had seen how he cursed Gaston through his words. If part of the villagers were mad with Gaston, the other part were against LeFou for not stopping Gaston in the right moment.  
  
Tom, Dick and Stanley were there for the majority of the day, of course. Besides LeFou, they were the ones who were closest to Gaston, and their presence there brought a slight solace. Before leaving, they approached the coffin once again, saying their last goodbyes to Gaston.  
  
“If you need anything, LeFou, you can count on us,” Dick said while he was still close to the altar. “We will always be by your side.” His expression was heavy, and even with the grief, LeFou would say he looked more worried than sad.  
  
But he didn’t have time to question it, soon Stanley was by his side, resting a supportive hand on his shoulder. He had a more adequate posture for a funeral.  
  
“You had no obligation to follow someone who had left you behind.” Stanley said in a friendly tone, still holding LeFou’s shoulders. “Stop blaming yourself.”  
  
It was good to hear those words from someone who wasn’t against Gaston. Stanley cared about his hero, but he also cared about LeFou.  
  
“Thank you, Stanley.”  
  
But it wasn’t enough; LeFou did blame himself. He was the only one who could have stopped Gaston.  
  
“Don’t punish yourself too hard.” Tom wasn’t carrying his usual smile, as expected.  
  
With a flourishing movement Tom revealed a golden coin with an unexpected image that LeFou couldn’t recognize inscribed over the smooth surface. “Here, take this. This will give you good luck,” Tom added, seriously, and LeFou accepted the gift, nodding thankfully to him.  
  
It wasn’t a normal coin, and LeFou would have to ask Tom about it later, but for now he was satisfied enough with the gesture. And he didn’t want to extend the conversation.  
  
“There’s no way to argue with the dead, LeFou. No debate.” Now it was Dick who spoke while the other two started to move away. “The dead always win.”  
  
With that mysterious advice, Dick followed his friends, leaving a confused LeFou behind with his own pain. He didn’t spend a long time questioning the way his friends were dealing with Gaston’s death, the only thing that could matter to him now was their company and respect for someone who always was - and would never stop being - so important in LeFou’s life.  
  
He held the coin inside his hand, feeling a comforting warm spreading to his palm and fingers, but nothing would make him forget that he was all alone now. He didn’t have enough time to chew his pain again though, as a royal carriage stopped in front of the church, and the last person LeFou expected to see got out of it.  
  
_What was she doing here?_ _  
__  
_ LeFou knew his resentment was unfair; Belle was a good person, and she couldn’t be blamed for Gaston’s actions - LeFou had even helped her to find Gaston when he was inside the castle.  
  
But if LeFou knew he would be looking at Gaston’s lifeless body a day later, he wouldn’t have said a word to direct Belle up to that tower. The night wouldn’t have a happy ending, but at least Gaston would be alive. Gaston would still be there with him.  
  
And that was the only thing that mattered to LeFou. He was tired of thinking about other people’s’ feelings; so tired prioritizing other people’s needs. When did anyone do the same for him? How could everyone be happy, when he was damned to live with the weight of his friend’s death on his shoulders?  
  
From the look on people’s faces he could see that he wasn’t the only one surprised with her presence, but no one made a comment about it while she walked through the corridor, carrying a beautiful bouquet of daisies.  
  
She also didn’t say a word. She walked to the coffin, and stood there in silence, laying the flowers over the body. When LeFou thought she was about to leave, she stopped and turned to Gaston once again, spitting on his face.  
  
“Belle!” He called, ignoring the attention focused on them. “What was that about?”  
  
He was angry, _how dare she._ She was there without an invitation, she defiled His body just like how she had defiled their lives, and now she was leaving.  
  
“You’re still by his side after all, LeFou?” Belle wasn’t making an accusation. She was almost condescending. “He betrayed and manipulated you. He left you behind to chase his insanity.” She looked at the church with a melancholic look, before looking at LeFou again. “He took all of you to the castle, and almost made you commit treason against your Prince.”  
  
“Do you really believe this makes things better? That I’ll be pleased he’s dead because he was going insane?” LeFou asked, not being able to control himself. “That I will miss him less, because at least he didn’t kill a prince that no one was even fond of before?”  
  
He walked towards Belle, who didn’t even flinch or try to move away. “I should be satisfied because now you can be happy?”  
  
Some of the villagers were brave enough to get close to the scene. Even if they liked LeFou, he was attacking their future princess, and they should stop this before LeFou brought problems onto himself.

But Belle raised one of her hands, telling them not to approach with a gesture.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said. “This is the grief talking, not him.”  
  
Belle’s understanding only made LeFou more irritated. How could she to be _so perfect_ , so good and polite that she would just handle LeFou’s gratuitous attacks?  
  
“I hope you realize you deserve better than this.”  
  
LeFou let her go, returning to his place right next to Gaston’s coffin. He was tired of people judging him, telling him he deserved better when they didn’t even know Gaston.

When the funeral ended and Gaston was safely buried in the ground, the day was already fading. LeFou said goodbye and thanked everyone who had stayed there to the end, but he didn’t leave like the others - he couldn’t. At least, not now. Now he wanted to stand there, looking at Gaston’s tombstone and enjoying those last moments - something LeFou couldn’t do with his last moments of life.  
  
After a long silence, the words escaped his lips. “What did you do, Gaston?” His voice was shaking, and he was on the verge of losing his spirit.  
  
“What about us, Gaston? What did we have?” He asked again in anger. “It wasn’t love? It wasn’t enough for you?”  
  
Now his rage was being directed to the right person. Finally.  
  
“I thought you would see she wouldn’t marry you, and that you didn’t want to marry her.” Now he had started and he just couldn’t stop. “I thought you would realize you didn’t need to get married to someone who didn’t want you to be happy.”  
  
LeFou let a breathless laugh go.  
  
“I wanted to be a part of your life so much. I was willing to do anything to make you happy.”  
  
When LeFou lifted his hand to clean the sweat from his face, he realized there were tears running down his cheeks. He was crying; but for how long? Probably since he’d known that someone had found Gaston’s body.  
  
“And what did you do?” This speech was longer than he thought it would be. “You left me behind. You hurt me, and you left me behind, and now you’re dead, because you couldn’t even stay alive for me. You couldn’t stay alive to hear me. You had to vanish as you always do. You couldn’t stay alive to face the consequences of what you did to me.”  
  
His voice was breaking, and he knew his words weren’t making sense anymore. But he needed to keep talking - screaming - he needed to leak all of the anger and frustration.  
  
“You hurt me, and you left me all alone.”  
  
The coin Tom gave him was still in his hand. If LeFou were with his rational mind intact, he would never throw away a gift given by one of his friends, but he wasn’t able to think now. He wanted to leave a part of him with Gaston.  
  
In an impulse of what seemed to be a pointless act, he took the coin to his lips, placing a kiss over its cold surface. “I only wanted to be part of your history, Gaston.” He said in a final whisper, throwing the metal on the dirt covering Gaston’s coffin.  
  
Funnily enough, the coin didn’t stay on the surface. As soon as it hit the ground, the coin was dragged down by the dirt, disappearing in the mud; what LeFou supposed to be caused by the freshly excavated ground. It wasn’t important.  
  
He turned his back, and walked away.  
  


_When night had fallen on the camp, LeFou was still in Gaston’s tent. He would always go to his own tent to sleep, but before sleeping, Gaston would keep him around until a later hour - first, using the excuse that they had to plan the next moves of their battalion, but as time passed, he would just ask LeFou to stay with him a little longer without reason_ _._  
  
_Two days before, they had been in the worst battle they had had up until that moment. So many lives were lost on that field that they had had to retreat and wait for help from another battalion, which by itself was enough to hurt Gaston’s pride. But this time there was more than this: he was actually disturbed with all of the deaths that he had seen in such short period._  
  
_“My father used to think animals could see ghosts.” Gaston had said, while LeFou’s hands were on his shoulders and neck, not rubbing - as he would usually do - but caressing softly and trying to pass on some encouragement. “The horses…The crows. My father would say the noises they make at night is because they are seeing the lost ghosts from the ones who died on a battlefield.”_  
  
_Gaston inclined his head backwards, resting on LeFou’s belly. He wasn’t trying to hide how lost and fearful he was, and the only thing LeFou wanted was to hold and protect Gaston. To find a way to let him rest from the responsibility he had and from the burden he clearly couldn’t keep carrying anymore._  
  
_“Do you believe in the afterlife?” The question wasn’t out of the context, but was still a surprise. Religion didn’t resist war, except in the prayers of the frightened soldiers, but Gaston wasn’t frightened or a soldier. “In a God?”_  
  
_“I don’t know.” LeFou’s mind was filled with memories of unanswered prayers and endless questions. “But my grandmother did, and she was really sure about it.” His hands were running through Gaston’s loose hair, who had his eyes closed and was groaning softly._  
  
_“She would usually say how there was more than we know, a quiet and nice place where the dead could rest after the battle of their lives.”_  
  
_Gaston made a sound, which could be an agreement or a snort. “My mother would tell me the same thing, about a heaven for the strong and good ones, and when I was a child, I really believed in villages over the clouds where happy music was being played all the time.” A sigh crossed his words. “But it doesn’t matter how bad you want to reach this mysterious and happy dream - at some point you have to face the truth.”_  
  
_“And what’s the truth, Gaston?” LeFou asked in a whisper, resting his hands on Gaston’s shoulders to look at his face._  
  
_“You saw what we did, LeFou.” Gaston answered. “We’re all going to hell.”_  
  


“Look at you.” A mocking voice was heard and LeFou could only blame himself for being self-absorbed enough to be careless. “You don’t look so brave now that your friend has died.”  
  
The truth was that after years of Gaston’s protection, he’d forgotten what it was to be by himself, and how his ways would attract the wrong attention. But he had never imagined he would be target of mockery and hate so terribly fast.

Lost in his own thoughts, he had walked a good path, and even if he was still in the cemetery, Gaston’s grave was left behind. The best thing LeFou could think now was that at least he wouldn’t be beaten up right in front of Gaston’s resting place.

“I don’t know who you guys are, and I don’t care.” His voice was tired and so pained that even he was surprised. He was surrounded by them. “Let’s just finish this at once, so we can all go home.”  
  
One of the men - as tall as a human being could be, and with dirty blonde hair - stepped forward and grabbed LeFou by his collar.

“Who said anything about going home?” The man spit the words as though they were poison, and for a brief moment, LeFou could swear it was a serpent in from of him, not a human being. An ophidian who was about to spike its teeth into his skin.  
  
“Why don’t we send you to afterlife, so you can be with your Captain again?”  
  
A punch was thrown to LeFou’s back; the pain going straight to one of his kidneys, making him see dark spots in his own vision. His knees lost all of their strength, and the guy who was holding him still thumped his stomach with a fist before letting him fall to the ground, where he felt multiple kicks to his body. There was a boot that was particularly pointed, and every time this boot hit LeFou, he felt as though it might cause internal bleeding.  
  
But he didn’t feel pain anymore.

His body was getting stunned with all of their aggressions, his vision was dark, and he knew he was about to pass out - but there was no pain. His assailants didn’t seem to be willing to stop, and LeFou wondered if he was really going to die.

When the kicks and occasional punches stopped, LeFou continued to be shrunken against the grass, waiting for what was going to happen next. But there was no other touch.  
  
Suddenly, a liquid fell over him, bathing his body as if someone had thrown a pan of water in his direction. But that liquid was warm and viscous, with a salty smell that he recognized immediately: blood.  
  
His eyes opened and LeFou could see his own arms tinted with dark red. He touched his face and hair, as in a nightmare, and realized he was sticky all over and dirty with blood and small tough fragments of something that looked a lot like parts of human bones.  
  
His vision was still blurred and his thoughts were confused, but when he raised his head, he could see the bodies of his aggressors splayed on the ground. _Splayed_ . With multiple parts spread out in different ways, as if they were run down by a cavalry. An arm was right next to LeFou, and the body of this arm was a few meters forwards with no head. Other pieces of other bodies were all around him, but he didn’t try to focus and recognize which one.  
  
LeFou trembled when he saw the tall man was still alive. He was standing with his back turned to LeFou and attacking something - or someone? - in a violent movement, but right in the next moment, he was being split in half, as though a sword had cut his body from the bottom up. LeFou still could see the spine of the man hanging from the opened flesh before the now-dead body hit the ground.  
  
And he tottered, fighting against the unconsciousness that was threatening to overcome his mind, but when he managed to see again, there was no one there. The blood, fresh corpses and their insides were still all over the grass in a twisted painting, but the person who had caused that tragedy wasn’t around anymore.  
  
LeFou felt like he could throw up, but he used the last power he had inside him to control the nausea as he stumbled, trying to stand and walk. As he turned his body to move away from the hellish scene, he saw someone walking in his direction with decisive steps, and he tried to keep himself alert to see who this person was.  
  
A wave of relief filled his chest when he recognized Stanley’s worried look, falling into his friend’s arms, and being held with a strength he didn’t know Stanley could have.

“What happened here?” His voice had a terrified tone, and he seemed to be more worried for LeFou than concerned with all of those other bodies. “Are you hurt? Please, LeFou, stay with me.”  
  
LeFou tried to do as Stanley asked him, but his mind was too dizzy - his body demanded a rest, and he blacked out despite Stanley’s requests.  


“Where am I?”

The muffled words escaped his lips before he opened his eyes, feeling the soft mattress under him, and the blankets covering his body with a scent that made him realize he had been dragged to his own house. He was so comfortable and so tired that he couldn’t even manage to hear the answer to his question - he only blinked, noticing Stanley sitting on a chair next to him, before letting his body and mind rest once again.  
  
When he came back to consciousness, he forced himself to stay awake even if he felt that he could sleep for hours. Stanley entered the room carrying a tray with a plate on it when LeFou moved to sit with his feet over the bed.  
  
“I hope you’re hungry.” Stanley announced with a smile, as he placed the tray on LeFou’s lap, and sat on the same chair next to LeFou. “Dick came here with his wife, and they made me promise I would make you eat as soon as you wake up. Stella cooked the soup especially for you, so enjoy it.”  
  
LeFou wouldn’t complain - he was really hungry, and the soup looked delicious. “What time is it?”  
  
“It’s afternoon, just a few hours after lunch.” Stanley answered, making LeFou let go of his spoon, surprised.  
  
“Did I sleep the whole night and morning?” He was still feeling so lethargic that it didn’t seem he had slept more than a few hours.  
  
“You needed to sleep,” Stanley explained with a tranquilizing voice. “And you still need to rest, you’ve been through a lot these last few days.” The way he spoke made it clear that he wouldn’t let LeFou make any kind of effort until he was fully recovered. And LeFou didn’t have much reason to protest.  
  
What would he do now? How would his life be from now on?  
  
He didn’t want to think, so when he finished eating, he let Stanley take the tray away from his lap, and just laid down again, pulling the warm blankets over his body.

“Are you leaving?” LeFou asked in a whisper, waiting for an affirmative answer, but Stanley shook his head.  
  
“I’m staying with you until you feel better.”  
  
And Stanley was still there when LeFou closed his eyes, losing himself into the darkness of unconsciousness again. He slept with the brown eyes of his friend over him, taking care of him and watching his sleep - and LeFou blamed the dizziness, but right before he passed out, he could see something around Stanley.  
  
A halo, a bright light enveloping him, and the warmness reached LeFou, bringing him a comfort he hadn’t felt since the moment Gaston left Maurice in those damned woods. Before he’d fallen asleep, he already knew he wouldn’t have any nightmares this time.  
  
But when he woke up again, Stanley wasn’t there anymore. The room was still dark, declaring that it was night already, and LeFou wished this was the same day and that he hadn’t spent another one sleeping. His lost gaze wandered the place as he tried to get ready to sleep again, but a summersault took over his stomach when he noticed a presence that wasn’t there before.  
  
The chair was carried to the corner of his room, and there was someone sitting in it. He was away from the light, and the shadows didn’t let LeFou see who this person was, but…There was something in the way the figure kept one of his legs extended in front of him, while his other foot found support on a bench; that dagger being perfectly manipulated between his fingers, and the soft hum that escaped from his lips in a well-known song.  
  
A heavy sigh trembled upon LeFou’s lower lip, and he realized he was shaking. Suddenly, the room was so cold. The figure seemed to hear the small noise he made, because the contours of his head turned to LeFou’s direction.  
  
“You’re finally awake.”

His voice. The deep and thick sound reverberated the room, sending waves into LeFou’s body as he sat over the mattress and stared directly at the shape of person who was approaching his bed.  
  
That was when a ray of light from the fire’s lamp illuminated the figure’s features.  
  
His usual tanned skin was a little pale, and he looked tired as if he hadn’t slept for a few days. On his forehead, the wound was there, firmly sewn with reddish spots, but nothing that couldn’t be confused with just a hard but casual bump. The dark hair was tangled in his usual hairstyle, and now he was close, LeFou could see the dirt under his nails and how his shoes were drenched in mud.  
  
But none of this was important - he was standing there. Self-assertive and painfully beautiful as always.  
  
“Hello, my old friend,” Gaston’s voice sounded again.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is from Gaston's pov.  
> Be ready for some crazy stuff!


	3. The Rebel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I say how much I'm lucky to have @rudigerblues/Riachinko as a beta?  
> She's amazing and always find the best suggestions to make - and, of course, she has a lot of patience with me and my mistakes.  
> Thank you so much again, dear!

_"What is a rebel?_  
_A man who says no,_  
_but whose refusal does not imply a renunciation._  
_He is also a man who says yes,_  
_from the moment he makes his first gesture of rebellion._  
_[...]_  
_An act of rebellion is not, essentially, an egoistic act._  
_Of course, it can have egoistic motives…_  
_The rebel … demands respect for himself, of course,_  
_but only in so far as he identifies himself_  
                                                                                            with a natural community."  
                                                               - The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt by Albert Camus  
  
  
                                                                                        _"Miserable Orpheus who,_  
_turning to lose his Eurydice,_  
_beholds her for the first time as well as the last."_  
                                                                             - The Unquiet Grave by  Cyril Connolly  


The crazy ones would always fall.  
  
This was one of the biggest truths Gaston had learnt in life, but also one of the truths he was lousy enough to forget.   
  
The crazy ones would fall. Not because there was a godlike power that would keep the balance of the universe, or because the good would always triumph in the end. But because insanity would always make them fly so much higher that they would manage to find the impossible.   
  
As an insane person, Gaston had fallen. There was a moment between the loud shots and Belle’s crying when he heard the stone cracking, and he noticed how the ground below him wasn’t firm anymore. He’d only had time to look at his own feet - the bridge was breaking. He didn’t have time to escape.

He was going to die.  
  
There was no flashback of his life, no lights or regrets. He was falling, and he was  _relieved._ It was over. The violent eagerness, the constant dissatisfaction was disappearing. He was dying.   
  
And there was no pain when he hit the ground. The world went black for exactly a second and then he felt something pulling at his chest; painfully sharp claws being buried inside his skin and holding him by his ribs. He had been lifted from the place where his body had fallen, and now someone was throwing him to the ground again before he could defend himself.   
  
As soon as he was released, he checked his chest, looking for wounds caused by the claws, but despite the painful feeling in his chest, he wasn’t bleeding or hurt. In fact, besides the dizziness, his body was unharmed as though he hadn’t fallen from a tower at all.   
  
Taking advantage of his unexpected luck, he stood, ready to fight against the new beast who had attacked him - could Belle’s Beast be there with him? Had that thing survived the shooting?   
  
But then he located the creature: a  _woman_. A woman, with wings spanning the length of her body and skinny enough to show the shape of her bones under her skin. She was wearing what Gaston could poorly describe as a red dress, but it would be more accurate to say she had bathed herself in blood, and that blood had run over her body to form the shape of a dress.   
  
The sound of her flapping wings filled Gaston’s mind when she flew, ignoring him to focus on something that was still laying over the rock.   
  
His own dead body.   
  
What he understood - with a morbid logic - was that the flying creature hadn’t attacked him; she had ripped his soul from his dead body.   
  
If he said this wasn’t a scarring vision, it would be a lie. Gaston’s lifeless body was bent in a disturbing position, with his broken back supported on the top of the rock. His upper body was hanging backwards, while his hips and legs were twisted at an impossible angle. The side of his head - the part of his face that had received all of the impact from the rock beneath him - was smashed and slightly deformed.   
  
Gaston faced his own open and lifeless eyes, which now seemed to mock him, disdaining his previous hope that everything was finally over. It was over for his body, but somehow, he had to keep going.   
  
He could hear more flapping wings filling the air, and soon, three winged women appeared to join the first one over his body. One of them stared directly at him as she passed, and Gaston could see her eyes - as red and viscous as her dress.   
  
This could have made Gaston question if he wasn’t delusional, but he had witnessed the power of sorcery, and he had seen a monster locked in a castle with his own eyes just a few moments ago.   
  
Gaston didn’t have anywhere to go, but he didn’t want to stay there much longer. Maybe someone would appear to claim his body, or maybe his corpse would stay there until the end of the time. Now, he was incapable of caring about it; he only felt compelled to move forward.   
  
So he turned his back to his corpse, and walked in the opposite direction. He could hear the sound of a waterfall, and this was so inviting that Gaston felt the sudden need to find it. For some reason, this seemed to be important.   
  
But he never found the waterfall.

Instead, as the darkness became thick and suffocating, there appeared a blackwater river, hot enough to produce fog over the water. And Gaston wasn’t the only one approaching it; other people were moving in the same direction - some of them with a blank expression, others with a confused look, and a small part of them with the same decisive expression as Gaston.

It was like an invisible force had brought them together.

Had brought them to the river. A dark and luscious river where a boat floated with a single man inside. Gaston couldn’t say if the boat was moving, but soon the vessel was closer to the coast and the people next to him started to move to that same direction in a small tumult.  
  
That was the moment when the man on the boat turned in Gaston’s direction. He was wearing a hood, but Gaston could see his gloomy eyes shining underneath it, together with a thick, white beard that was big enough to reach his chest.   
  
“Gaston.”

There was no sign that his lips were moving, but his voice was clear and roaring. Those who were closest to him blinked in confusion, as if they were about to wake up from a trance - the truth was that Gaston’s own mind felt tipsy, though he could tell that he was lucid, compared to the others.  
  
“You’re the one I’ve been told about,” the man continued, using his oar to open a path among the people just as he would do to open the way on the water. Now Gaston had space to walk to him. “Come with me.”   
  
This figure wasn’t unknown to Gaston, but his memory denied him the information. There was a story, maybe? A story told by his mother when he was just a kid - or that he had learnt in school. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to follow his orders. The idea of getting into that boat seemed to be fatal: if he went with that man, he wouldn’t come back.   
  
“You won’t be charged for the crossing.”

He kept the calm voice, waiting for Gaston to follow his orders. Gaston was hesitant, but the man knew he didn’t have anywhere to go. Gaston’s feet were moving before he could control them, and he walked to the man, getting into the boat.   
  
A moan was heard in unison as they left the coast to the river, and as the man raised his strong hand to take the hood off his head, he let go a sigh. “No one has an adequate funeral anymore. I can’t help them. They will wander for the eternity if they don’t pay.”   
  
Under the hood, the man was wearing a conical and curious hat that Gaston had never seen before, and now not only his hair, but his beard too was black, and Gaston suspected the hood was somehow a disguise.   
  
“I didn’t pay.” His words were simple and a little bit rancorous. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he didn’t want to be there.   
  
But the man wasn’t offended by Gaston’s tone. He just looked at Gaston with an expression that Gaston would say was mysterious. “But common laws don’t apply to men like you.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment or praise.  
  
Gaston’s mind was becoming more blurred as they moved into the river, and the man didn’t start a new conversation. He was so infected by the dizziness, hypnotized by the quiet and dark waters that moved in small waves as the oar opened the way; Gaston returned to his trance.

When the boat hit the soil, Gaston couldn’t say for how long they had been sailing - he just left the boat instinctively, and when his senses came back to normal, the boat and the man weren’t there anymore.  
  
Instead, there were three other men in front of him. Three strong and imposing men; one of whom sat over a throne, wearing an ancient vest made of cotton that only covered his waist and part of his chest. Without questioning - or feeling the will to do such a thing - Gaston walked until he was standing in front of them, with an impression that they were growing bigger as he got closer.

  
“As you come, give up your dreams, your name, your clothes and your own self.” The man accommodated in the middle spoke. “From now on, you’ll be what we tell you to be.”   
  
He paused, and Gaston knew this interruption was only for good measure. He wasn’t pleased with that statement, for sure, but he couldn’t find strength enough to retort. At least, not in the moment.   
  
“Meet your judges.” The man in the middle spoke again. “On my right, I have Rhadamanthus; Lord of Elysium, and the one who judges the mortals who come from far Asia.”   
  
The man called Rhadamanthus inclined his head in Gaston’s direction in a polite greeting. Gaston could see the color of his eyes: gray as storm clouds, but they were also carrying a trace of sympathy.   
  
“On my right, I have Aeacus; the one who judges the mortals from our Europe, and the one who will read your sentence this night.” Aeacus didn’t make any gesture in Gaston’s direction, but Gaston thought he had seen his lips curving into an aggressive expression - as if he was about to howl.   
  
“And finally, my name is Minos.” The man completed this speech, not showing any emotions, unlike his companions had. “I’m the one who holds the third and final vote.”   
  
“And on what are we voting this night?” Gaston managed to break the new trance that was holding his impulse to fight in a snap. A snap violent enough to draw the attention of Aeacus who was still staring Gaston down with disgust inscribed across his face.   
  
“Your destiny.” His voice was filled with a cruel satisfaction. “The place you’re going to spend your eternity, your new home.”   
  
Gaston didn’t ask about his options. Throughout his entire life, he’d known there was a place reserved for men like him. And he wasn’t afraid either - he wouldn’t deny everything he had done.   
  
“During the first part of your life,” Rhadamanthus was the one who announced first. “You lived as a hero. You fought for your people in their time of need, risking your own life to protect them. I say you deserve Elysian Fields to rest and be rewarded for your previous actions.”   
  
“He did what he did in his personal search for glory,” Minos added in a monotonous voice. “Not for altruism or out of the kindness of his heart.”   
  
“As the defining part of our heroes.” Rhadamanthus interrupted Minos, continuing his short speech. “It is important to measure what they did with their thirst for glory. If they were helpful, they deserve…”   
  
“My beloved brother, you’re blind by your kindness.” The deep voice of Aeacus was heard again. “Remember what this man did in his lasts moments, and how he was guided by nothing but rage, pride and his selfish motivations.”   
  
While listening to such dialogue in silence, the memories of his last moments were vivid in Gaston’s mind. The way Belle had run to the Beast who had the nerve to spare his life, when he could easily have thrown Gaston from the tower. The intense rage that filled Gaston’s heart to see the two of them close to each other, and the need he felt to ruin their happiness, to do  _anything_ to stop them from staying together...   
  
“I lived my life.” He grunted. The past and present alternated inside his head, confusing his mind and making the rage from the night in the castle take control of his heart again. “Good and bad.”   
  
More bad than good. The hate was pulsing inside of him, as if all his blood had been replaced with aversion, and he couldn’t control himself - but there was a place inside his head that was still lucid enough to alert him to the fact that something was wrong; that he had to focus, because _something was getting inside his head_.   
  
“I may have not have pleased you, but I did what I had to do. I did my best. Now it’s your time to do what you have to do.” Gaston managed to control his inner storm of thoughts and feelings to face Aeacus directly. It didn’t matter what the other judges would say - he knew his confrontation was with Aeacus and Aeacus only. “Where am I going?”   
  
“The only thing you believed in your entire life was in hell.” Aeacus’ voice was close to a growl. A dangerous growl. “And that’s where you’re going.”   
  
Gaston felt his body was moving in a new impulse. He was no prey to be doomed without a fight. “I’m not standing here to be judged by someone who holds no sympathy for me. I’m not going where you want to send me.”   
  
“There’s nowhere else for you to go. This is the only way for you, this is everything you deserve.” Aeacus spit the words in his direction. “You betrayed the woman you claimed to love, your Prince, the citizens who trusted you, and even the best friend someone like you could have.”   
  
“There’s no salvation for you.” Unlike Aeacus, Minos’ voice was still without emotion. He seemed to be following a memorized and boring script - but Gaston didn’t pay further attention to his words. He was still listening to Aeacus’ sentence.   
  
The best friend he could have.   
  
“I’m not doing as you said, either.”

The mention of LeFou made Gaston focus on where he had to go - he was free from Aeacus’ manipulation.   
  
Any argument was useless now; he had to see his friend again and he wouldn’t let himself be guided anywhere before that. Then, he could go to all the circles of hell that were waiting for him - but for now he had to talk with LeFou again. “I want to go back.”   
  
Gaston turned his back to the judges and tried to walk away, but his passage was blocked by an animal. A giant dog, with a black furry body from where three raging heads faced him. Gaston’s lips contorted in a furious grimace, and even if he didn’t know what the monster in front of him was, he was ready to fight. He was not afraid of beasts in life, and he surely wouldn’t be in death.   
  
“Your flesh is not where you left it anymore.” Aeacus’ voice echoed, and Gaston had the impression that the three presences behind him were becoming higher and larger in response to his insolence. But when he turned to face them again, they were just as before.   
  
“You’re already under the ground, tears have fallen for you.” Rhadamanthus kept the same empathetic posture, even if he didn’t say anything to help Gaston again. “Death is not a debate.”   
  
“Sisyphus, Gaston. Orpheus.” Behind the steady tone, Minos’ voice was a warning. “They also tried to overcome Mors. Keep in mind what happened to them.”   
  
Gaston had no memory of whom those names belonged to or how they were punished, and he didn’t have enough time for that conversation.   
  
“If I belong to hell, there’s nothing I should fear.” He could be answering Minos, but his eyes were locked on Aeacus. “You keep in mind that I’m not as the others. I’ll succeed, and I won’t have to see your faces or listen to your poisoned words anymore.”   
  
“Enough!” Aeacus’ voice filled the room, leaving Gaston with the impression he was about to suffocate, but he kept his attitude. “I would throw you to Tartarus myself if I had the power. But I will guarantee you’ll be locked in the Fields of Punishment, and we’ll forget we’ve ever met you, just as everyone you left behind.”   
  
Aeacus was panting in rage, and his image seemed to flicker, and this time there was no mistake - he was expanding. “You’ll rot, your words and name will rot. In a matter of years, you’ll be nothing. Not even a memory.”   
  
But Gaston wasn’t frightened. “Listen to my…”   
  
These were the only words he could form before being pulled. Pulled by an invisible force, an enormous and powerful hand that held his waist with an inhuman strength and brought him up violently - so violently that he looked down and he could see the judges and their perplexed expressions turning into small dots as he continued to move up, increasing the velocity until his vision turned into a blur. 

  
_It was early morning and Gaston was already sitting at the table of the small kitchen in his cabin. He had barely slept that night and he had awoken early enough to see the sun rising from the window of his bedroom. So he had walked to the kitchen without changing his clothes - and without even thinking. He knew he couldn’t sleep anymore, so he just got out of his room in a lifeless motion._  
  
_Just mimicking the gestures he would do everyday._  
  
_And he was still there when LeFou woke up and left the smaller bedroom. Fully dressed, fresh and replete with vitality as he always was. Gaston liked this, to see how LeFou was his perfect counterpart with his joyful mood, constant smiles, and optimistic words._  
  
_But sometimes that would also make Gaston feel like a parasite; a leech who was always feeding himself from the enthusiasm of his friend, without a life of his own. And he hated to find himself in such a dependent position._  
  
_“Gaston?” LeFou called, but Gaston didn’t turn to face where he was. His body seemed to have the weight of a heavy lead in that moment, but from the corner of his eyes he could see LeFou’s smile falter for a brief moment. “Is everything fine?”_  
  
_“No, LeFou.” After thinking of what he should answer, Gaston just opted for the truth._  
  
_“Gaston…” LeFou moved closer to him and slowly started to pass fingers along his hair, disentangling the locks. Gaston sighed in annoyance - the gesture itself wasn’t unpleasant, but it had a disturbing meaning to him._  
  
_LeFou would always try to fix him, to make him seem less miserable. As if he couldn’t face Gaston like that - as if he couldn’t live with anything less than the heroic picture he had inside his own head._  
  
_“Is my presence here bothering you?” he asked, probably noticing how Gaston’s mood was unstable._  
  
_“Never.” Gaston breathed away all the air that was inside his lungs, finally turning to face LeFou. He saw LeFou’s worried expression, and a devotion in his eyes that delighted Gaston, but also made him feel so angry. LeFou was staring directly at Gaston, but he wasn’t seeing Gaston at all._  
  
_LeFou didn’t understand. Sometimes, Gaston felt that LeFou didn’t even make an effort to try to understand. It would probably be too disappointing for him if he did._  
  
_“I’m just unhappy.”_  
  
  
He found himself in darkness again. But this time there was no claw to rip from him. He just stayed quietly there, staring at the dimness until her could confirm that not even the judges would appear to reclaim him.   
  
There was something pressed against his back, and he recognized he wasn’t standing anymore, he was laid down over a squared surface. He tried to move, but his arms and legs thumped into different surfaces - both on his sides and right in front of him, as though he was locked inside a small box that fit him just right. When he tried to hit the surface overtop him, he heard the sound of wood cracking and dirt falling from the disruption.   
  
_You’re already under the ground, tears have fallen for you._ Rhadamanthus’ words came back to his mind.

He was inside his own coffin.   
  
Dreadful images filled his thoughts, but he tried to concentrate in finding a way out of that dark prison. He struggled again, bumping his hands on the cover of the coffin again and managing to make the rupture of the wood bigger.   
  
More dirt started to invade what should be his resting place as he kept punching and kicking the coffin, and soon he was able to raise his body, digging at the ground to leave the grave.   
  
His hands were the first parts of his body that felt the cold breeze of evening, and he could open the way for his arms, finding support to hoist his body out of the ground. Gaston kneeled over the dirt, testing his balance and touch, only to realize that even if he was clearly inside his body once again, he couldn’t feel the same way he had when he was alive.   
  
He grabbed the mud, pressing it against his palm, and he could feel that he was holding something. The coolness of the mud could be noticed, and he knew it was lumpy, but his tact was numb to the details. His chest was moving as he breathed, but he couldn’t feel the air refreshing his lungs either, and when he held his breath, he didn’t suffocate.   
  
A coughing stopped his thoughts - apparently, he didn’t need the air anymore, but his lungs were expelling the accumulated dirt from within them. Gaston spent some time panting, and then the coughing turned into nausea, as he curved his upper body forward, holding his own stomach with his both arms.   
  
Before he could stop it, a gush came out of his mouth, spilling a transparent liquid all over the ground before him. He wheezed for a few seconds, and the contraction inside his stomach attacked him again, making him vomit another portion of the liquid that smelled like rosemaries, alcohol and something rotten.   
  
Trying not to focus on the terrifying details, Gaston stood with more facility than he was expecting, finding comfort in the fact that at least his vision was perfect - if he dared to say, it looked like he could see with even more clarity. It was dark already, but he could see the colors of the world with such vivacity! And the chant of the nocturnal insects filled his ears with more intensity than before.

He recognized where he was - the cemetery behind the village’s church. He had escaped his tomb. A cold liquid started to run over his forehead and eyebrows, and raising one of his hands to touch the origin he realized the wound on his forehead had opened again with his expended effort.

Remembering the situation of his body in a lapse, Gaston moved his hands to his head, noticing that the impact zone was still crushed. As he moved, he could feel the stitches along his body weakening.

And then Gaston saw a light - a bright light full of presence, as if the sun were rising. He could say that this random effect awoke his curiosity, but the truth was that he was mesmerized by the light - he had to go in that direction. There was no other choice for him.  
  
As he got closer, the light was diminishing and he could see a bunch of men circling the source - these men had a menacing posture, and now the light was beginning to form the silhouette of a person. It was dark and the radiancy was fading, turning into a soft emanation, but it was the shape of a man he would recognize anywhere in the world.   
  
LeFou was being attacked and beaten up. Gaston was dead for barely a day, and he had already brought problems onto himself.   
  
There was no hesitation, Gaston only gave himself enough time to curse before walking straight to the scene. He didn’t know who these men were, but they were hurting his friend and he would cease that madness. It didn’t take much for the three of them - who were a few steps away from the others - to notice his presence there, and walk towards Gaston to stop him.   
  
The first punch hit the man who came closer to Gaston’s right - and Gaston knew how strong he was, but what happened next was a shocking surprise. In one moment, Gaston could feel the bones of the jaw crushing against his knuckles, and in the next second the head of the man dislocated, splitting from his neck completely with a nauseating sound of rupture.   
  
This made his other two opponents stop for a second, while watching the blood splashing, the body collapsing and the head hitting the ground, but they didn’t stand still for too long. They didn’t stop to consider what Gaston had just done, or that they would probably face the same fate if they kept the fight - they just advanced as if they were trained animals.   
  
Now Gaston was invested with more confidence, running to collide with one of them directly, and throwing the man to the ground with his shoulder. With the new opponent dizzy, he just stepped over his head, breaking the skull with a lazy pressure.   
  
When the third man came, Gaston punched him on the chest, and felt his fist wash through blood as his hand transpassed the man’s body and emerged on his back. For a minute, he was close enough to look in the man’s eyes, and what he saw wasn’t human - his eyes were a vicious green, and his pupils were black fissures as the eyes of a reptile.   
  
Gaston drew his arm back, letting go of the body that also fell on the ground. He didn’t have time to think how he was doing such things while LeFou was almost fainting and there were two more creatures over him.   
  
Stepping over one of the corpses on impulse, he jumped to the other one, falling on his back and tearing off his arms as though they were made of rotten wood. The blood spilled as Gaston used one of the arms to circle and break the man’s neck, standing over the ground again when the dead body hit the ground.   
  
The last man faced him with viperine eyes, but Gaston was suddenly distracted when he saw LeFou moving over the grass and slowly opening his eyes. Relief washed away his anger - LeFou was hurt, bathed in blood with pieces of corpses all over him, but he was alive.   
  
That distraction gave enough time for the creature to take a hidden dagger off his belt and attack Gaston to drill into his heart.   
  
But another unexpected thing happened: the blade broke against his chest, making Gaston just stumble backwards with the impact. As soon as he found the balance again, he just raised his leg to kick the creature between the legs - a violent kick that cut the body in two, exploding the creature’s blood and bones.   
  
LeFou was still trying to recover his strength to move, and for a moment Gaston just stood there, overtaken by his wish to walk to LeFou and seize his friend inside his arms. While he was in that underworld, the feeling that he would never see LeFou again was devouring him, and now LeFou was just a few steps away, so close to his reach.

But he walked away instead, hiding himself from LeFou’s view behind a tree. He needed to talk with LeFou, but not this way. Not in a field of dead bodies, with the two of them dirty with blood. Not while Gaston had opened wounds, a deformed skull and kept vomiting fluid that smelled like rosemaries and putrid skin.   
  
He would die again before letting LeFou see him in such situation.

From where he was, he could see LeFou stumbling over a new figure.

Stanley! Gaston was thankful to know his other friend was still around, and could rescue LeFou for him. While the distance between them increased, LeFou started to emanate light once again and as Stanley didn’t react to the new light, Gaston understood he was the only one who could see LeFou shining like that.  
  
He closed his eyes, as he supported his body on the tree, not knowing what he was supposed to do next. Who could help him? Who wouldn’t be frightened to know he had escaped his grave?   
  
An idea clicked inside his mind, as he straightened his posture. It was the craziest option he could consider, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Gaston had to look for Belle. She was the only one who had dealt with sorcery before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Albert Camus' quote was supposed to be from The Myth of Sisyphus, so we would have a quote related to Orpheus, and another one related to Sisyphus. But looking for the right quote, I remembered this one from The Rebel, and well. Totally Gaston!  
> Hope you all had enjoyed this chapter! This fic is getting really crazy, but I'm so excited writing it?  
> Please, if you read it, share with me your thoughts!


	4. Heliophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank so much for having such a talented beta as Riachinko  
> I can't put in words how amazing she is!
> 
> And, of course, I hope you all like the chapter <3

                                                                                _heliophilia (n.) desire to stay in the sun;_  
_love of sunlight  
  
  
  
  
_

Dawn was already appearing on the horizon when Gaston recognized the tree where he’d stopped with LeFou and Maurice in their insane search for Belle. He knew the castle was close.  
  
Gaston had no way of guessing what had happened to Belle and her monster after his fall. He knew he had shot the beast to death, but something inside him - his hunter instincts? - believed the beast had managed to survive.  
  
This idea alone was enough to burn Gaston’s chest with anger again. He not only hated to fail in what he understood as a hunt, but that beast didn’t awake the purest feeling inside him. In his twisted and still confused mind, that thing was the one to blame for his death.  
  
But he also knew that the only chance of getting help from Belle was if Gaston hadn’t killed her monstrous pet. So, deep inside, he believed he would have to find a way to be pleased with his own failure.  
  
And if the Beast was alive, Belle would be in the castle for sure. A castle where Gaston had thought of coming back to before - but victorious, as a hero. Not as a beggar.  
  
But there was a peculiar moment during the last part of the walk, when Gaston had a full view of the horizon crowned by the stunning sunrise, that made him forget his lack of luck. A powerful emotion inundated him and he felt like he was being watched - he was being _greeted_ \- by the sun.  
  
A warm feeling that resonated deeply inside him. Was there a way for someone to be kissed by the sunlight?  
  
A note of a song was heard, and that moment of connection was broken. Suddenly, the sun was only the sun again, dwelling high in the sky and Gaston questioned for a brief second if all that walking had compromised his senses. But the melodious voice hit him again now with a wave of recognition - _she_ was around here. She was close to him.  
  
Her beautiful voice awoke a contradictory feeling inside him. God, he had no reason to keep the façade of a man in love, but Belle was capable of touching an important part of him. Even after all the things that had happened between them, Gaston couldn’t consider the option of trusting anyone else. She was the one he had to see.  
  
Oh, to hell with the excuses - she was the one he wanted to see.  
  
Following her voice, Gaston found her between the bushes, harvesting a curious kind of small and colored fruit. For his luck, she was all alone humming a song that Gaston had already heard her singing before, but with a different choice of lyrics.  
  
Gaston almost forgot the reasons that brought him there, it was too easy to get lost in that scene and believe this was just another new day in Villeneuve. She was wearing a simple dress, as she always did and she was moving with the same grace and simplicity, carrying a basket in one of her hands that was full of the exotic fruit and a book. They were far from the village, but everything was too familiar.  
  
But soon Belle turned to his side and spotted him there: standing a few meters away from her. The basket fell, hitting the ground with a muffled sound.  
  
A frightened scream cut the air a few seconds later. She stumbled backwards, her legs losing balance as she tried to increase the distance between them in desperation. Gaston vacillated, he also stepped back, assuming a defensive posture.  
  
Belle was brave, no one would dare to tell otherwise. But humans had a limit that shouldn’t be crossed, and being right in front of an enemy and aggressor who was already dead was something that no one should go through. Gaston understood that, but he also had to make her understand.  
  
“You’re dead.” There was grudge and fear in her voice. “You’re dead, and you still won’t leave me alone.” The sentence was said so loud that Gaston knew it was a matter of time until someone - a guard maybe - appeared to check what was making their lady so distressed. The castle had to be close from there.  
  
“Belle…”  
  
“What are you?” She cried, scrunching her features, her expression horrid as though she might scream. “You’re dead,” she repeated, maybe believing those words could be enough to make Gaston disappear. But soon her face was livid with horror again. “You’re the living dead.”  
  
“ _Please,_ Belle, listen to me, only for a moment.”  
  
He stopped talking - which was a surprise to Belle in itself - but then he placed one of his hands over his stomach and bent forward as his whole body shook with queasiness. And he threw up. An incolor liquid that hit the ground with a splashing sound and a disturbing smell that made a new feeling rise in her chest - pity.  
  
“Embalming fluid?” She was polite enough to look away from that pathetic scene, while Gaston collapsed again with a new wave of vomit.  
  
“This would be awkward in any circumstance.” He stuttered, rubbing his mouth with his own hand, and waiting for a moment to be sure that his body was over with the expelling. “But now seems to be even worse.”  
  
If hearing Gaston say “please” wasn’t enough to make Belle consider how unusual this conversation was, that scene made her hesitate. The man in front of her was suffering, and seemed to be sincerely in need of help.  
  
“Please,” he repeated. “I would owe you for eternity.”  
  
And after everything he went through, Gaston wasn’t exaggerating on his promise, as people usually do when they say such words.  
  
Belle sighed, closing her eyes and clearly gathering courage before walking to Gaston and offering him her hand. “Come with me,” she said, gritting her teeth. “You deserve to clean yourself, at least.”  
  
Gaston accepted the help, holding her hand and standing again. This was a beginning.  
  
“I will be damned before bringing you to the castle, but there’s a cabin nearby.” She continued, rescuing her basket and the book, but leaving some of the fruits forgotten on the ground.  
  
“You could stand to…” Gaston noticed her eyes wandering from his head to the opened wound in his forehead, and then the blood, mud and other things that was painting his body. “...Clean yourself.”  
  
“I know this is not the way I should present myself to a lady…” Gaston started talking, but Belle placed her index finger in front of her mouth, telling Gaston to stay quiet.  
  
“You look terrible, and I can’t help you. But I know someone who can.”  


_  
  
“Marry?” LeFou’s question came in a high-pitched voice. “Do you want to get married?” _

_  
__They were at the tavern - there was singing and dancing, but that night, LeFou wasn’t participating. He was still sitting on the stool right at Gaston’s side._ _  
__  
__“I think I need to, I’ve been eliminating options, before coming to a decision.” Gaston was still talking, but he couldn’t hear his own words. This wasn’t supposed to be a conversation, let alone a discussion - he was only communicating what he was going to do. “I need to change my life, and this might be the answer.”_ _  
__  
__“And you’re asking for my opinion, or you’re telling me?” LeFou had interrupted his explanation, a bitterness ruining his clear attempt of being petulant as always._ _  
__  
__Gaston turned his head to face LeFou - his brown eyes were burning, and not only because they were reflecting the flames from the fireplace. This reaction wasn’t a surprise to Gaston. He wasn’t as stubborn as to ignore the nature of LeFou’s feelings. He also didn’t try to fool himself and pretend he didn’t know what his affection for LeFou meant._ _  
__  
__But even if both of them had feelings that were far from friendship, they were too different. From where he was standing there was an abyss between him and LeFou. An abyss that LeFou wasn’t willing to cross._ _  
__  
__And Gaston was satisfied, trying to live a relationship with a man would be dangerous. LeFou wasn’t the first man for whom Gaston had felt attraction, he wouldn’t even be the first man he’d bedded. But his others experiences were only a night - after putting his clothes on, he would walk away and he would hardly ever hear from the man again. It was brief and harmless, and so much different than sharing a home and a bed for good._ _  
__  
__Instead, he could find himself a good wife that would make him happy and would even give him children. Their fresh smiles and childish energy in a small but comfortable cabin could be everything that was missing in his life. A child’s laugh had to be louder than all the ghosts hovering his mind._ _  
__  
__“Why, Gaston?” LeFou whispered, trying too hard to keep his voice under control. And that was the reason why Gaston wanted to tell him his decision when they were inside the tavern - this would prevent things from getting too intimate. “Why are you coming up with this idea now?”_ _  
__  
__“Have you ever thought about…” Gaston sputtered, still looking at LeFou, “how we are like pawns in a tale? We don’t change.” He explained when he saw the confusion outlining LeFou’s expression. “Since war, we’ve lived in the same house, we do the same things, we’re like words written on the pages of a book.”_ _  
__  
__“Are you bored, Gaston?” The corner of LeFou’s lips trembled. “Is this the problem? Because you’re so much bigger than this… You were born to be great, to change history…”_ _  
__  
__Briefly, Gaston wondered how the villagers would react if he took his friend in his arms, if he pressed their lips together right there, claiming LeFou as his without the concern of hiding it. He knew LeFou would melt immediately and would let Gaston do as he wished. And would the villagers dare to stop him? Would anyone there oppose Gaston, to prevent him from doing anything?_ _  
__  
__He ended up snorting at his own daydream._ _  
__  
__“Maybe changing history is not what I need, my friend. Maybe I just need a nice, settled down life.”  
  
  
  
  
_ Belle waited for him outside the cabin, while Gaston bathed himself in the best way he could. The cabin where she had taken him was useful in its own way, and had a nice tub to be used. He didn’t find a way to warm up the water, but he discovered he wasn’t feeling temperatures anymore - even knowing the water was cold, the feeling around his body was neutral.

Soon, he got rid of the blood and dirt, and when Gaston started to think about what he was going to do with the deep wounds of the fall, he heard a knocking on the front door.  
  
“Can I come in?” It was a woman and Gaston knew that voice, but at the moment, he couldn’t relate it to a face.  
  
“I’m not decent yet,” he rushed to answer. He was just getting out of the tub, and he was not only naked, but the wounds of his body were completely open - and dripping that terrible fluid. Gaston had to find a way to suture that.  
  
But if the woman heard him, she didn’t seem to care - for that moment, he heard the sound of the door opening, and her steps entering the bathroom. Gaston turned his body in the exact moment that Agathe appeared on the threshold.  
  
“You?” He asked in surprise, momentarily forgetting about his vulnerable position. “The hag?”  
  
But she visible wasn’t a hag anymore.  
  
“It was you!” Gaston suddenly exclaimed, not only from surprise, but with an annoyed feeling of shame. It was obvious, just right in front of eyes all the time, and still he was the last to know. “You’re a witch! A sorcerer! You were the one who created the beast, and you were the one who killed me.”  
  
“Not a witch, and not a sorcerer. But I like how sorcerer sounds,” she answered in a steady voice, keeping the same neutral posture. “And you’re not completely killed from what I can see.”  
  
“And are you going to bring me back to life?” Gaston questioned, fully aware that Agathe had no reason to help him - just like Belle.  
  
She didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, she walked around him, looking his body up and down with a critical expression.  
  
“I don’t have such power.” She approached Gaston, stopping right in front of him, and holding his face to look at his eyes.  
  
“But do you know someone who can do it?”  
  
Agathe answered this question with silence. Placing one of her hands on Gaston’s head, right over the area that had been smashed by the rock, she mumbled a few words that he couldn’t understand the meaning of. But he could feel her hand getting warmer, and then his skull was fixed.  
  
“I can make you look better, but I can’t heal a dead body. Bones, yes, they are lifeless by itself. Flesh?” She touched Gaston’s forehead, and he felt the stitches coming back in place and closing the wound again. But the wound was still there. “I can’t do anything after the life is drained.”  
  
By the flexion of her voice, Gaston was aware that she thought no one should do anything once the life was drained.  
  
“You will need care and maintenance, because a dead body doesn't heal himself.” She touched his spine, and Gaston heard a crack as his back was brought into the correct place, and a new doubt crossed his mind.  
  
“My back was broken when I hit the ground.” The memory of his lifeless body and those winged creatures around it was still fresh inside his mind. “How am I walking?”  
  
Agathe walked around his body to face Gaston again. Her eyes were a combination of different emotions, and some of them Gaston couldn’t identify.  
  
“You’re not breathing, and there is no heartbeat. What is keeping you alive?”  
  
Gaston knew it was a rhetorical question, and Agathe herself didn’t have the answer, but he still looked at her, perplexed. In answer, she raised her shoulders, focusing on his head now.  
  
“I can feel something inside you.” The warming hand touched the wound of his chest, and the ripped stitches were whole again, sealing the skin. “Something powerful that is making your body move, despite the damage or the lack of life.”  
  
The tip of her fingers caressed Gaston’s belly and she reached the worst wound, located on his stomach, cleaning the fluid and conjuring new stitches to sew the skin. Gaston tried to control himself, but he ended up taking a long and useless breath of frustration - he wasn’t used to women touching him with such neutrality.  
  
“Your skin is cold as the winter, but when I touch here.” Agathe punctuated her words, placing one of her hands over Gaston’s back, and the other one over his stomach. If she noticed Gaston’s discomfort, she didn’t care. “You’re warm. There’s something inside of you emanating heat.”  
  
She walked a few steps backwards, checking Gaston one last time. He couldn’t say she had a satisfied expression - but she was conformed.  
  
“You can dress yourself now.” She said before he could ask anything else. “Belle brought you clean clothes and I suppose you will want to reach the village while LeFou is still there.”  
  
Gaston had just reached for the towel when Agathe’s words startled him.  
  
“While LeFou is still there?” He asked not being able to hide the concern.  “What do you mean? Where is he going?”  
  
But once again, she spared herself from answering Gaston’s question, and dismissed him with a gesture. “The clothes are over the bed. I’ll leave you alone now, but I advise you to hurry.”  
  
When Agathe left the cabin, Gaston found the clothes she had mentioned - with blue patterns of embroidery and golden details. Exactly the type of vest he wouldn’t wear, but at least they were perfectly fitting. He wanted to ask who the original owner of that clothing was, but he knew he wouldn’t like to know the answer.  
  
And he suspected the owner wouldn’t like to know his clothes were being borrowed by Gaston, either.  
  
Following Agathe’s advice, he quickly dressed himself, discarding the new pointy shoes that matched the vest to wear his old ones - they were dirty, but at least they were comfortable. Leaving the cabin, he met both Belle and Agathe waiting for him in front of a chariot.  
  
A very curious chariot that had no horses or a coachman.  
  
“Sorcery, Gaston.” Agathe smirked to see his expression and opened the door to let them enter. “I can guarantee a discreet and fast travel to Villeneuve. And another person to guide the chariot could bring us trouble - the fewer people knowing that you’re walking among us, the better.”  
  
That was an argument impossible to be refuted. He accommodated himself inside, taking a cushioned seat, surprised to see that not only Agathe but Belle also joined him.  
  
“You already did everything you could for me.” And for some reason, he didn’t appreciate the idea of having her company during the whole travel. “You don’t need to go to Villeneuve too.”  
  
“I want to visit Père Robert.” Her voice was frigid, and when she sat right in front of him, Gaston understood what was bothering him so much: her resentful expression.  
  
He was sure Belle would be terrified if she discovered Gaston was reading her emotions - the aversion was subtle, and she was clearly making an effort to keep her expression straight. But the hurt feeling was there, shining inside her eyes.  
  
Gaston wanted to say something - anything. But his lips wouldn’t obey, his voice was locked inside his throat. So he just decided to focus on the view outside the window, and on how the trees and the grass went by fast enough to be almost a green blur. The image made him dizzy, but he would rather be sick to his stomach again than face Belle.  
  
“You know you’re dead, right?”  
  
Such question made Gaston look at Belle again, and she was looking at him with a stubborn determination.  
  
“Believe me, more than I wished to know.”  
  
Now Gaston could feel it - the curiosity, the question that was surely hanging on her tongue by a thread. But he wasn’t surprised when the question didn’t escape.  
  
No one alive would want to know the answer.  
  
“I know I did a terrible thing.” He was compelled to start talking again. “I almost ruined your life.”  
  
“Are you sorry?”  
  
“Yes,” Gaston himself was surprised to realize how this answer was sincere. “A part of me wishes things went differently.” And the other part wouldn’t spend time regretting things that were in the past.  
  
Belle didn’t look away, and her lips were curving in distinct bitterness. The insistent gaze was starting to smother Gaston - why would she keep holding onto such details?  
  
“I can’t say if you’re telling the truth or not.” Nonetheless, she continued talking. “I can’t trust you or believe a word of what you’re saying.”  
  
“Dead people don’t lie, my dear.” Agathe was the one who answered now, and Gaston looked at her for the first time since the chariot started moving. She was close to the window, slightly opened, but her blonde hair wasn’t moving with the wind - it seemed to have his own determination. “They don’t have a reason to do so.”  
  
Agathe was deeply right. Gaston had noticed how his perspective was changed - as much as he was aware that he still had some kind of feelings for Belle, it sounded pointless to lie just to make her appreciate him. He didn’t even care anymore if she held sympathy for him at all.  
  
“And I wasn’t a liar in life. Not for the most part of it, anyway.” Gaston had always seen the lie as the weapon of the weak. “Even in my lasts days, I told only one huge lie that brought a lot of small lies with it.” The end of his life, of course, was marked by weakness.  
  
“What was your huge lie, Gaston?” She asked, but the three of them already knew the answer.  
  
“I told people I loved you.”  
  
Silence followed Gaston’s words, and it endured so much that he started to believe the conversation had finally ended. He relaxed over his seat, noticing he wasn’t tired, even after the fight or the walking. Would it be necessary for him to ever sleep or rest again?  
  
“Did you believe in your own lie?” Out of nowhere, Belle took him out of his thoughts to face reality again.  
  
“I tried.” He answered, simply.  
  
“And why are you here? Why are you going haunt LeFou?” Such a question made Gaston frown at her - she had never paid special attention to LeFou, and now she was suddenly caring about his future. “You didn’t bring him any good when you were alive, do you think you’ll be better for him now that you’re dead?”  
  
“I can only say I have my own private sunshine.” He answered without thinking about the words; just wanting to be allowed to be quiet again.  
  
The light was getting stronger as they approached Villeneuve, and Gaston would soon realize he couldn’t look at anything else. His eyes were fixed on the road in front of him and his destiny.  
  
“Gaston,” she let go a nervous snort. “You almost ruined that sunshine. LeFou deserves better.”  
  
“He thinks this is the right thing to do because of their history together.” While Gaston opted for the silence, Agathe took the chance to talk again.  
  
Agathe was also looking at Gaston fixedly, and her feelings were still a mystery to him - but he could see that she had no doubt about the reasons he had to come back to Villeneuve. This wasn’t a bother, but not even in death would he say that it was a pleasant feeling to be so easily read.  
  
“Love can be a disadvantage.” Agathe said again, and now it was his time to snort.  
  
“Dying is a disadvantage.” His voice was dry, and this conversation was starting to become too dangerous.  
  
“It won’t be. A man always prefers a deceased version of his lost love than facing the fact that his love is lost.” Agathe completed. “LeFou will say the next prayers of his life to whatever God he believes in that brought you back to him.”  
  
With the corner of his eyes, Gaston could see that Belle was visibly exasperated. She sighed, and moved her dress with an unnecessary gesture, and tapped her feet over the wooden ground.  
  
“You’re incapable of loving anything that it’s not yourself.” It was a statement. If she understood the meaning behind Agathe’s words, she gave no importance.  
  
“A few days ago you’d also say I was not capable of mobilizing the whole village to attack a castle in the middle of the night.”  
  
That finished their conversation at last.  
  
  
After a long period of silence, Belle didn’t say goodbye - or anything else - to Gaston when they arrived in Villeneuve. She just stayed inside of the chariot, while Agathe got down with him and placed a cape over his shoulders.  
  
“Don’t take this off while you’re walking in public.” She warned, and when she covered his head with the gray hood, Gaston had the worst memory, of the man inside the boat. “It will protect you.”  
  
Gaston thought that there was nothing else to be said, but she was still standing in front of him. Agathe was hesitating, and this made Gaston understand what the odd emotion she’d been hiding until now was: she was afraid.  
  
No, she was _terrified_ .  
  
And not because she was witnessing a dead man walking among the living. She was terrified of something else. Was there a thing in the world more disturbing than a powerful sorcerer as scared as a child? What could inflict such terror in someone like her?  
  
“Agathe… Why would LeFou be leaving?” He still managed to ask, in an urgent tone, remembering their short conversation inside the cabin.  
  
She looked at Belle, still seated inside the chariot, making sure she wasn’t listening to their conversation.  
  
“When you’re done, I will deliver you to the judges again.” She said, and Gaston retracted his lips in a menacing grimace, hearing about those men once more. “Until then, be careful, and do what you have to do.”  
  
  
Once they were gone, Gaston had no trouble in finding LeFou’s house - not only did he know the way, but now the light was so bright that Gaston had to pull the hood further over his head to protect his eyes from its intensity.  
  
But when Gaston reached the front door of the house, something stopped him. At first, he thought this lack of action was caused by some primal instinct, but soon he realized that it was a physical warning. His stomach, and a specific part of his back - the same parts Agathe had pointed to before - were getting warmer as if he was boiling inside.  
  
He didn’t understand the reason for such a strange warning, and when he stepped back, moving away from the door, the heat started to fade leaving his body normal again - or as normal as a lifeless person could be.  
  
Hissing at the unforeseen problem, Gaston circled the house, noticing that the window of LeFou’s bedroom was open, light shining through it. He managed to spy into the room, and it looked like the sun’s offspring was laying over LeFou’s bed. His friend was there. Sleeping.  
  
When the door of the room opened, Gaston moved back intuitively, leaving the window. He heard voices from inside, and he recognized that Stanley was the one who was there with LeFou. Usually, he would be satisfied to see someone taking care of LeFou while he was away, but he felt he was missing an important piece of that picture.  
  
Stanley was still whispering something, but there was no answer. For some reason, this bothered Gaston even more.  
  
Using a patience he didn’t posses, Gaston waited outside LeFou’s room, hiding himself against the wall under Agathe’s hood as he watched the modest movement around LeFou’s house. Besides the visit of Tom and Dick and their respective wives, no one else appeared. But still, Gaston waited until a late hour of the night to walk to the window once again, to get into the room.  
  
As had already happened before, the light started to fade to a soft emanation when he got closer to LeFou, and he could see his friend perfectly. LeFou was lying under the blankets with a peaceful expression on his face, and his breathing was so calm that Gaston didn’t have the courage to wake him up.  
  
“What am I going to do with you?” He mumbled.  
  
He just stood there for a moment, observing LeFou’s features and letting an agonizing feeling take over his chest. Gaston was only being fair when he described LeFou as his own private sunshine - with or without that new light.  
  
“You already were the death of me.”  
  
Gaston was pleased to see that LeFou’s physically injuries weren’t severe, and he would be fine in a few days. Giving his friend some space, Gaston pushed a chair that was next to his bed to a corner of the room, accommodating himself there to wait until the right moment. Once more he noticed how it would be useless if he tried to sleep.  
  
There was no way for him to say how late it was when he heard a soft moan coming from the bed - he only knew he had already been there for a long time. But he also couldn’t care about this, at least he was there. And now his light was awake.  
  
He walked to the bed again, a smile dancing over his lips when he noticed LeFou’s expression at seeing him there - Agathe was right once more.  
  
“Hello, my old friend.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, share with me your thoughts - about the fic, the ship, the universe and all <3

**Author's Note:**

> Remembering that:  
> 1) Comments make my day.  
> 2) You can always find me on Tumblr! @ohgaston


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